“He says you are wise,” Gabriel said behind her. “A child still, but wise.”
She felt her eyebrows go up but kept her voice civil. “I suppose that’s his way of saying ‘well done’?”
“More or less.” She could hear the laughter in her mentor’s voice, and her own mouth quirked up in response, even through her frustration. The old man nodded once at Gabriel, then got on his pony and left.
We don’t say goodbye on the Road, Gabriel had taught her. The Road curves around on itself, and you just assume you’ll meet again. She didn’t know that she ever particularly wanted to see the old man again, but it was an odd comfort, nonetheless, to think that she might.
“So, what now?” Gabriel asked once the pony had ambled out of sight. “Do we go? Stay?”
Something cold stirred in Isobel’s gut at the question. The presence had left them alone during the night, but it still lingered, trapped in its own pain. Something terrible had been done to it here, something that reached out beyond this place, as far down as Jumping-Up Duck’s people, and maybe farther than that.
“I need to find out what happened here,” she said, turning to face him, half-expecting argument or outright refusal. Instead, Gabriel simply sighed and poured the dregs of the coffee over their fire, listening to the flames hiss down into embers.
“Of course you do. Which means we’ll be chasing after magicians.”
Isobel ducked her head at the expression on his face, an odd, determined distaste. “Not yet. First, I need to settle the haint.”
“No. Absolutely not.” He spoke even before she’d finished, his words trying to drown out her own. He’d stood up too, his arms crossed against his chest. She was tall for a woman, but he could still tilt his head and look down, making her feel like a little girl scolded for doing a poor job sweeping the floor.
She opened her mouth to continue, to explain, and he cut her off. “Last time, it was only the wapiti and the old man who saved you, Isobel. And neither of them are here now.”
Of all the objections he might have raised, that she hadn’t expected. “You’re here.”
“I’m useless.” He spat the words out, then stopped, drawing a quick breath as though he hadn’t meant to say them, was trying to pull them back. Isobel blinked at him in shock, then crossed arms across her own chest, refusing to retreat further.
“I can’t do what you do,” he said, softer this time. “Even the old man could see it, could see you were in trouble, and I just . . . stood there.” His jaw clenched, and he rubbed at his face as though exhausted. “I can teach you how to behave around marshals and unfriendly miners, I can talk my way past bandits and natives, but Isobel, when you throw yourself into the crossroads, I can’t help you.”
“That’s not . . . I’m not asking you to.” Her voice wobbled a little, and she fixed it, irritated. “You said it yourself: I’m the silver. I need to find what’s wrong and fix it.”
Devil’s silver, he’d called her. Throw her at something that felt wrong and draw the power out, make it safe again. She rubbed the fresh-polished ring on her little finger, watching it glint in the sunlight.
“I have to do this, Gabriel.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, her gaze trained on the ring and the black lines in her palm. “It might stop the quakes, might . . .”
“Might. Fine word. Or it might—”
Destroy her. He needn’t say it out loud. Silver, in the presence of power, tarnished. Too much tarnish and it became useless.
“It’s not a choice I’m making. I have to.”
“I know.” Anger and frustration laced his voice, but it wasn’t loud anymore, and she risked looking up at him then. He had turned away, looking east, the morning sun warm on his face, highlighting the lines at his eyes, the faint strands of grey in his scruff, features as familiar and dear now as any she’d known since birth. “I don’t like it, but I know.”
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t quite sure what she was apologizing for, but there was something under his words, dark and swift, that made her ache.
And then she was engulfed, his arms around her shoulders, the familiar, comforting smell of him wrapped around her, and she let her cheek rest against the rough cloth of his shirt, feeling his breath rise and fall.
“Ah, half the time we’re chasing into or after things pell-mell, we haven’t the chance to set things to order first. This’ll make for a nice change,” Gabriel said, his voice the rough drawl she hadn’t heard since the saloon, the one that made him sound charming, harmless, made a person think he wasn’t smart or dangerous.
But he was—smart and dangerous. And he trusted her to be the same.
“It’s just a cleansing,” she told him, intentionally flippant, to match his tone. “Nothing different than draining a crossroads or calming a spell-beast with blood in its mouth.”
“Oh, yes,” and the drawl was definitely on full display. “Nothing to worry about there at all.”